


Nothing to Fix (As You Are)

by ImNeitherNor



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Billy thinking he needs fixed, But both boys are sorta broken, Friends With Benefits, Happy Ending, M/M, One Shot, Some drug references, Steve is stupid and doesn't realize it, Steve starts off as an asshole, Steve's Pov, actions talk louder than words, like a lot of them, lots of emotions, read between the lines, remember that it's a happy ending, so just, some suicide ideations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 00:29:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15158495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImNeitherNor/pseuds/ImNeitherNor
Summary: It was supposed to bejust fucking, but catching feelings was inevitable.Steve just didn't expect it to spiral downward so hard or so quickly.





	Nothing to Fix (As You Are)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sightetsound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sightetsound/gifts).



> I wrote this to a soundtrack I made because I'm a hopeless, emotional person who writes to music. If you'd like to listen while reading, scroll down, start it up, and get ready for the ride. :)
> 
> Special thanks to my beta, who always finds time in her schedule to beta for me (usstrashbarge).
> 
> Prompted and babbled about the plot with: sightetsound

 

            It was just fucking.

 

            _Just fucking_.

 

            They had both agreed on it, both refusing to give into anything more than a tumble in the sheets or against the Camaro or in Steve’s hot tub. It was a way to let go. A way to let Steve’s demons out and gave flesh for Billy’s teeth to sink into. It was for every almost-death Steve had suffered in the Upside Down and every fist that connected to Billy’s body (a fist that belonged to someone who was supposed to be Billy’s hero).

 

            Except, Steve had begun to notice things.

 

            Small things.

 

            Miniscule, really.

 

            Billy would let his touch linger, or his eyes would slide over Steve’s body a breath too long. His lips would quirk and the smile would be genuine, frighteningly so. He would laugh and it would lack malice or that all-consuming energy that buzzed on his skin as he stalked the halls of Hawkins High.

 

            It was just fucking, but Steve could feel something dark and slick prying at the steel he had cast around his heart. It dripped and wormed and attempted to find its way in, and Steve _knew_. He knew Billy was beginning to feel. He was beginning to watch Steve with more than the animal calculation of a predator watching prey.

 

            All Steve wanted was to be prey.

 

            He had to end it. It was a mix of bitter and sourness in the back of his throat, and perhaps some salt, but no one could convince Steve where the salt came from. No one (even if he knew).

 

            It was Saturday morning. Steve was drinking coffee, just as bitter as the taste in the back of his throat, when Billy walked into the kitchen, still dripping from the shower. They had fucked last night. A lot. Steve’s ‘farewell,’ really, even if Billy had no idea.

 

            Steve’s heart was cast in steel, made of sharp edges and welded together with _bullshit_ and _you’re an idiot_ and _maybe, if he had just dropped the bat, it would have all ended_. Billy felt like he could be the concoction that corroded and peeled the steel back, and Steve--

 

            Steve simply couldn’t have that.

 

            He looked up and caught Billy’s eyes. Recently, the blue had started to look less like a typhoon, less like a hurricane, and more like an ocean in the late evening--dark but content, rolling but gentle waves. That was also something Steve simply couldn’t have, couldn’t maintain, couldn’t be responsible for.

 

            “I think we should end this,” Steve said and he gestured to himself, to Billy, and watched Billy chew on it. Think. He watched a cacophony of emotions twist Billy’s features until they’d smoothed out into nothingness.

 

            “Ya got a reason for that?” Billy asked. Drawled, really, and that little welded edge that Steve was worried about split open just a hairs breadth more. He had to end this, and he had to do it now.

 

            “You’re getting attached,” Steve said it matter-of-factly, and as Billy parted his lips to respond, he continued. “I’m not here to save you. I’m not here to rescue you from your dad.” He had to dig. He had to make Billy _hate_ him. “I’m not here to fix _you_. So,” he shrugged and kept his eyes on Billy. He watched as those gentle waves began to twist and crash and bubble. It wasn’t just in Billy’s eyes, though. His whole body became rigid and his hands flexed at his sides.

 

            Billy’s hands were a makeshift gauge for his emotions. Steve had learned that, just like he knew that the galaxies decorating his skin were from his father. Distantly, Steve acknowledged he was being cruel. He was tearing down what little they had, but that was just it--they _couldn’t_ have it, not in Hawkins, Indiana. Not when his parents expected him to find a good girl and settle down with the American Dream of a white picket fence, two and a half kids and a dog.

 

            Billy wasn’t a girl and he certainly couldn’t pop out babies, so this was for the _best_. For both of them.

 

            “Besides, what would your dad say if you knew you were being--”

 

            Billy laughed, tossed his head back, his white teeth gleaming, and Steve heard the menace. The poison trickled and pinged against the steel caging him. He could visualize the holes that it created, as it ate away at the metal Steve had desperately built up in an attempt to save himself.

 

            He had watched Billy’s own facade, his own desperately built barriers, crumble over their time together. It was about time he put them back up, and he observed Billy doing just that from his kitchen table. The laughter died into something like an amused wheeze before Billy sneered at him. It was ugly and it reminded Steve of the night at the Byers’. It didn’t scare him, though. Steve was afraid of very little, these days.

 

            “No one,” Billy said, his tone dark, morose, “Can save me, pretty boy.”

 

            And just like that, Billy was gone. Steve expected him to slam the door. He expected the squeal of the Camaro’s fat tires. He expected a last, biting word.

 

            He got none of it. Billy was silent, an eerie contrast to how he had turned Hawkins upside down with his golden skin, blonde curls and wicked smile.

 

            Steve ignored the pinch in his chest.

 

~

 

            Steve hadn’t seen much of Billy in the week following his exit from ‘casa de Harrington’ (Billy’s phrasing, not his own). Every time he turned a corner at school, Billy seemed to be turning around the next. He was basically a ghost, even in practice. It was the end of the school year, so practice meant shit, and if Billy skipped out on it, who cared?

 

            Steve didn’t.

 

            He really didn’t.

 

            The season was over, so practice was just that-- _practice_. It didn’t matter if Steve wasn’t challenged by any of the other players, if Tommy’s cruel comments and jibes inched deeper into his skin, or if he hadn’t slept in a week.

 

            Fucking Billy Hargrove had had its positives, like being able to pass out afterward, and Steve missed it. He didn’t miss Billy’s muscled stomach or the way his back tensed up when Steve thrust in _just_ _right_. He didn’t think about the comment he made about the _little_ bit of fat on Billy’s ass making it easy to squeeze. He didn’t think about the way Billy had kicked him out of bed with an undignified snort of embarrassment.

 

            Steve also didn’t think about how Billy looked, sprawled out across Steve’s bed, the sun just barely creeping over the covers.

 

            He tried his best to ignore the idea that the bruises he bit and sucked into Billy’s skin were being replaced by a retired marine who wore his military ring on his right hand for a _purpose_.

 

            _I’m not here to save you_ , matter-of-fact, didn’t dance around in his skull like a reminder of how cruel Steve _could_ be, the one before Nancy, and perhaps the one after her, too.

 

~

 

            Two weeks went by. Steve finally caught some gossip about Billy, even if the guy was like a goddamn magician and could just up and disappear when Steve was nearby.

 

            _Did you see his face?_

_I wonder what happened to the other guy._

_It’s Hargrove. The other guy is probably **dead**_.

 

            No, the other guy was probably drinking coffee and reading the morning paper after dutifully washing Billy’s blood off his hands and that ring he liked so much. Steve wanted to check on Billy. He wanted to ask if he was okay, but…

 

            It was just fucking. They weren’t _friends_.

 

~

 

            Three weeks and Steve felt like he had crawled out of his own skin. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t seen Billy, and graduation was right around the corner. Hawkins was blossoming, turning green and bright and smelling like flowers, and Steve was walking around like a sponge used to clean up old, spilled oil. Everything he touched had this invisible gunk on it, and it reminded him of the slick that came off of the demodogs. It was like the Upside Down had contaminated him and only _he_ could see it.

 

            Steve became furious with himself, but he also became angry with Billy. Billy, who he thought he had cut off soon enough. Billy, with his tan skin and golden curls. Billy, with his infectious laughter and sometimes goofy grin (but only ever around Steve). He had gotten too close and had eroded more of the steel protecting Steve’s heart than he had thought. He had wiggled his way in without meaning to with his backward compliments and his too-blue eyes.

 

            Maybe Steve should have noticed the small things.

 

            The miniscule things.

 

            Because while he shoved Billy away, assuming he had caught feelings, Steve had, too.

 

            And he hadn’t realized it until three weeks after, after Billy had already shut the door behind him.

 

            After Steve said _I’m not here to fix you_.

 

~

 

            Steve sat on the hood of his BMW and waited for the kids to leave their club shit. He held a cigarette in between his index and middle finger and stared at the sky. When it finally burst open, the small gaggle of nerds spilled out and wandered across the minuscule patch of grass and onto the asphalt.

 

            “Is Steve giving you a ride?” He heard Dustin ask Max because, well, the Camaro was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes darted over to him and her lips twisted in one of the most Billy-like expressions he had ever seen come from her.

 

            “No,” she spat. She might as well have said _fuck you_ with the vehemence with which she said _no_. She dropped her board on the ground and the wheels clattered until they settled. The board was whole, new, something Billy had bought for her for her birthday during the months he and Steve had been fucking around.

 

            With the look that Max shot his way, he had a sinking feeling that she knew _something_.

 

~

 

            Steve graduated, but he wasn’t particularly happy about it. The only reason he managed to pass English was Billy Hargrove.

 

            _“I dunno, man. It just doesn’t make sense.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“The… letters. They just. Dance around the page. I’ll never fucking graduate at this point.” It wasn’t something he had told anyone. Nancy hadn’t been the first person to call him ‘stupid.’_

_“Oh. You know, in Cali, there were kids like that. They just read with audio tapes.” Billy had looked at him and had given him one of those smiles. It was an **I understand** smile. It wasn’t a taunting smile. It wasn’t like Nancy, and God knows she had tried, it wasn’t like anyone.  It wasn’t a jab. “I think it’s called dyslexia?”_

_Steve had gotten his hands on all of the audio tapes for the novels they were reading. He had also begun writing in letters that were more block shaped and using yellow film over textbook pages. It looked ridiculous, but it had helped._

Billy had helped, and Steve had said _I’m not here to fix you_.

 

            There was still gossip about bruises, split lips, and something about Billy’s hair.

 

~

 

            It was the night of The Bonfire--the one where all the graduates in Hawkins celebrate by the quarry and the police turn a blind eye to the alcohol and other activities going on. It wasn’t like parents didn’t know where they were, and as long as no one drowned, everything was _fine_.

 

            Steve wasn’t surprised to see the blue Camaro there. Wherever the party was, Billy was. Now that he was so well-known, it was almost strange _not_ to see Billy’s Camaro wherever people were getting drunk or stoned. It sat off to the side, caged in by another couple of cars, but no matter how much Steve looked, he couldn’t fucking find him. Finally, Steve gave up and sidled up next to Tommy.

 

            “Hargrove doesn’t graduate this year,” Steve said, idly, because the Camaro was there and Billy wasn’t.

 

            “Nah, but he _really_ likes his powder,” Tommy laughed and the people around him jeered. Something vile slithered into Steve’s stomach and nestled there. It squeezed his organs and burned his lungs.

 

            “Fuck is he, then?” He tried his best to sound nonchalant. Thankfully, everyone was already either too drunk or high to notice ex-King Steve asking after the whereabouts of one Billy Hargrove.

 

            “Said somethin’ about going to ‘his spot’,” one of the girls slurred as she made quotes in the air and giggled. “Pro’lly to fuck or somethin’.”

 

            Steve doubted that. One of the things he was _sure_ about Billy Hargrove was that he was gay, and his antics with the “cows” in Hawkins was a facade to keep his old man happy and his real attractions swept up under the rug.

 

            _“My old man has tried to fix me over and over.” Billy had said one night after a joint and a few beers. “In any way he can. Figured comin’ to lil ol’ Hawkins would get rid of my faggotry.”_

 

            And Steve had said _I’m not here to fix you_.

 

            That thing in his stomach tightened and Steve was reminded of that visceral slick that kept dripping off of him every time he touched something. The only good thing, at that moment, was that he knew exactly where _Billy’s spot_ was. He knew where to go. He waited a few minutes, let the conversation go somewhere else, before he ducked out and began the long tread to the top of the cliff overlooking the quarry.

 

            Billy had taken him to the spot a couple of times. It was overcast by trees, shaded, barely accessible unless you _knew_ how to get into it. Hell, Billy parked at the bottom and made the trek without complaint. Steve knew he did this a lot, but the idea that Billy was high and on the top of the cliff sent jitters up and down his spine. There was also that betrayal of warmth in his gut because he had fucked Billy up there, hidden by woods and bathed in warmth from the sun (even if it was cold). Billy had climbed into his lap and had sank down on him with one of those breathless sounds that he made whenever he was full to the brim, when Steve couldn’t push in anymore.

 

            Steve knew all of Billy’s sounds, including the hisses of pain or the accompanying gasp when he cleaned out wounds and pressed frozen vegetables against fresh bruises. He knew the difference between a hitched moan when he bit and licked the right spot compared to the moan before Billy unraveled, before he came. Steve knew every single one, had mapped Billy’s body with his lips and teeth and tongue.

 

            Maybe the steel around Steve’s heart had started to fall apart long before he noticed.

 

            The distance between the cliff and the bottom was eaten up with thoughts, and before Steve knew what he wanted to say, he was bending down and then straightening in the small clearing.

 

            It had been almost a month--a month and Billy looked like he had seen better days. It was a stupid, cliche saying, but it was _true_.

 

            _“It’s always worse in the summer. No one asks questions in the summer.”_

 

            Billy’s jaw and cheek were bruised. There were marks around his throat. Someone ( _Neil_ ) had gripped him too hard. There was a cut along the top of his cheek, where Steve assumed Neil’s military ring caught him. There were probably more underneath his black button up and his denim jeans, but Steve was drawn to his hair. It was shaved on the sides, in the back, and it was only long enough on top for a couple of curls to tumble off to the side. There were healing cuts on his scalp, and Steve thought that Neil had to have held him down and cut his hair off. He couldn’t imagine Billy going quietly on that one.

 

            There was also a lack of sparkle dangling from Billy’s left ear. Steve knew what it looked like when stars bounced off that spike. They had been here before.

 

            “Do you think,” Billy said, startling Steve out of his thoughts, “that it would feel like flying?” He was standing on the edge, one boot balanced precariously off the jagged lip.

 

            Steve felt consumed, then, by ice and fire and panic. He stepped forward, once, twice, three times, his eyes on Billy. He didn’t want to startle him, to accidentally send him over, but he was _right there_. Steve’s tongue felt glued to the top of his mouth and his lungs fought to work. He felt that familiar warning of a panic attack at the back of his throat and tried his best to shove it down. He couldn’t have his own panic attack when Billy looked like he was _okay_ with the idea of jumping.

 

            “I’ve heard that hitting water from this far up feels like concrete,” Steve stated, his voice strained. “Not too good, is what I’m saying.”

 

            “Maybe,” Billy said and Steve screamed _look at me_ in his head. He screamed _please don’t_ and _step away_ and _I’m sorry_.

 

            Nothing came out.

 

            “But it would fix me,” Billy continued and Steve watched him close his eyes. “He couldn’t fix me. My mom couldn’t fix me. _You_ can’t fix me, right?” When his eyes _finally_ turned on him, Steve flinched. Billy’s lip was split on the side, fresh against an older wound next to it. It looked like it hurt.

 

            “Hargrove, you’re high--”

 

            “I’m not _high_ ,” Billy bit out and Steve shut his mouth. “I have the drugs. I didn’t use them. I thought it would give me that _extra_ push, you know?” His lips curled into that malicious grin, the one Steve remembered from the night at the Byers’. “But I can’t even fix myself. If I just _took it_ , I could…” He trailed off and looked over the edge again, leaving Steve in tense silence.

 

            “There isn’t… Hargrove, there isn’t anything to _fix_ ,” Steve licked his lips and took another step toward Billy. Two, maybe three more, and he could grab him. He could keep him from free falling.

 

            _I’m not here to save you_.

 

            “Really?” Billy turned his gaze back to the water below. “He told me that she overdosed because she knew I was a faggot. He told me that it wasn’t her _mental state_. Her only kid was too fucked up, and since she couldn’t have any more…” He smiled and Steve thought that, maybe, he’d never witnessed anything so self-deprecating. “So he has his new, happy little family, right? Susan and Maxine. And he has this--this--” he gestured at himself, “--leftover piece to constantly remind him of her. And he can’t fix me, no matter how hard he tries.”

 

            “Hargrove--”

 

            “And _you_ can’t fix me, right, Harrington?” Billy’s voice was bitter but _tired_. He sounded as exhausted as Steve has felt for the last month.

 

            _I did that_ , Steve thought, and that thing that had settled in his gut slithered its way up into his chest and squeezed, vice-like around his heart. Once, twice, and stayed that way. 

 

            “I guess I should congratulate you,” Billy continued, his tone just as dull as it had been before, “on graduating.”

 

            “That--uh--thanks,” Steve edged forward again. One step, two. Billy was in reaching distance now. Steve’s heart fluttered as he watched him. It felt like needles were being dragged over his skin. He was terrified of touching Billy, of sending him off the edge, but he was also terrified of _not_ grabbing him. Of _what if_.

 

            Billy shifted away from the ledge, but Steve felt his heart lodge into his throat, anyway. He watched Billy run his fingers through his hair and watched frustration flicker across his face. Billy was away from the cliff’s edge, at least, but it didn’t stop that fear that licked up and down Steve’s spine.

 

            “ _Billy_ ,” Steve said, desperately enough to catch Billy’s attention, to distract him. In that moment, Steve lunged. He wrapped an arm around Billy’s waist and yanked him back. They both fell backward onto the grass in a heap of limbs and gasps. Billy’s knees hit the ground next to Steve’s hips and Steve’s head sang as he knocked it against the ground.

 

            They both froze and stared at each other. They both felt the left over shocks of adrenaline from fear, both tasted that sourness of _almost_. Billy _almost_ fell, _almost_ took that plunge, _almost_ left Steve forever. When Billy started to pull away, when he started to struggle, Steve tightened his grasp around him and held on. He ignored the way Billy shoved, how hard he panted. He tightened his arms when Billy began to shudder, when his shoulders and chest began to hiccup--a sign that he was fighting the urge to cry.

 

            “I want to be fixed,” Billy seethed and he sounded desperate, more broken than Steve could ever remember. “I wasn’t going to fucking jump. I just want to be _something_ to _someone_.”

 

            Steve’s chest shattered and his lungs caved.

 

            “There’s nothing to fix,” Steve insisted. “Billy, baby, there’s _nothing_ to fix.” He kept an arm wrapped around Billy’s torso with the knowledge that he was probably squeezing bruised ribs. He managed to catch Billy’s jaw with his other hand and forced him to look at him. Billy may have not taken whatever drugs he had scored, but his eyes were still wild. His eyelashes, so long and thick, beaded with unshed tears and Steve felt like Billy had stolen his breath. Billy blinked at him and it released some of those tears. Steve slid his thumb over just in time to catch one of them. He swiped it away and looked over Billy’s face.

 

            Billy, who was breathless, as if he had run a marathon. Billy, who looked like a caged animal, ready to fight or flee. Billy, who apparently just wanted _someone_ to care about him. Anyone. He had been content just being someone’s fuck buddy. He had been _okay_ simply doing that, and Steve had torn it to shreds while using his father’s words against him.

 

            “I’m sorry,” Steve said. “God. Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m _so_ sorry.” He swallowed down the fear that crawled up his throat. The fear, he found, was that oil that had coated him, that had stained everything around him. It wasn’t the idea of relationships or falling in love again. It was his _fear_ of feeling again, and he had already walked down that road a long time ago. It just took destroying Billy for him to realize it.

 

            In that moment, Steve felt like he was no better than Nancy.

 

            “ _I_ want you,” Steve pushed on as Billy tried to pull away again. “I want you. I _want_ to be the one to save you from your dad. I want to be the one to get you out of there, okay? But… but there’s _nothing_ to fix.” He brushed his thumb over Billy’s lower lip but was careful of the fresh and old wounds. _Summers are always worse_. “I know I was an asshole. A real fucking prick. But please, Billy, please?”

 

            Before, when he had tried showing up to Nancy’s with roses, he hadn’t been sure what he was apologizing for. Here? Now? He knew. He wasn’t sure what was going on in Billy’s head because he had become so damned quiet, but he _knew_ why he kept saying he was sorry.

 

            “You’re lying,” Billy said it like it was final, like nothing Steve could say would change his mind. Steve probably, most definitely, deserved it.

 

            “I’m not,” Steve murmured, despite that. He dragged his thumb from Billy’s lip to his cheek, where purple was fading into green and green to yellow. He stroked back and forth and refused to break eye contact with Billy. “I’m not lying. I was scared. I didn’t want to feel again. I was _so_ scared, Billy. I didn’t want to hurt again, so I hurt you. I hoped it would… I don’t know…” He pursed his lips.

 

            “You sound like me,” Billy mumbled and Steve’s lips ticked up. “I do that when shit gets serious.” Steve cupped Billy’s cheek, careful of the bruises, and tilted his head.

 

            “Oh? You do? So is that…” Steve looked over Billy’s face. They were already close. Billy’s hips were settled on Steve’s and he wasn’t struggling anymore, which was a definite plus. “Does that mean I’m sort of… sort of in the clear?” Billy’s eyebrows furrowed and Steve smiled more. “Just a little bit?”

 

            “Not even a little bit,” Billy muttered, but something sparked in his eyes as Steve pressed a barely-there kiss to his lips.

 

            “Not even?” Steve echoed as he pressed another kiss to the corner of Billy’s mouth. His tight hold on Billy’s torso loosened so he could drop his fingers to one of his belt loops. He curled his fingers there and gripped as he pressed another soft kiss right below Billy’s mouth.

 

            “Maybe a little,” Billy breathed and Steve felt that thing coiled in his chest ease. He slid his fingers over Billy’s cheek, stroked along the buzzed softness of his hair right next to his temple. As he did, he kissed Billy’s lower lip and gently bumped their noses together.

 

            “Just a little?” Steve couldn’t hide his smile as Billy flicked his tongue over his lips, as he ducked down to initiate a kiss. Warmth pooled into Steve’s gut and the oil that had followed him everywhere began to evaporate. The more Billy pressed into him, the more his lips ravaged Steve’s, the more _certain_ Steve was of what he wanted. _Who_ he wanted.

 

            They continued to kiss, small, undemanding things. Breathless things. Billy’s hands ended up in Steve’s hair, curled onto him as if he were a lifeline. Steve kept his arm looped around Billy’s waist while he alternated between cupping his cheek and stroking his fingers through his short hair. He explored the curls on top, too, twisting them around his fingers, tugging gently, before he returned back to Billy’s cheek.

 

            Steve knew Billy didn’t forgive him. Hell, it took a long time for Steve to even remotely think about forgiving Nancy, but Billy was pliant on his lap, putty in Steve’s hands. He eased back until he was resting against the ground again with Billy straddling his waist. Steve grinned and reached up to pull at one of Billy’s curls.

 

            “I’ll do better,” Steve promised quietly. “I will, Billy. I’ll get you out of there and I’ll do better.”

 

            Billy watched him and Steve could see a multitude of things: fear, doubt, resentment, warmth, affection. It was the same typhoon he had watched in Billy’s eyes before they started spending nights together. It swirled in his blue eyes, unmanaged, unchecked, a monster of a storm threatening to break loose.

 

            Break loose in a way that sent Billy flying.

 

            The thought still pained him. It tightened his chest and made his skin feel cold and clammy.

 

            “You can help me get out,” Billy seemed to decide on, “I’m not a charity case, Harrington. I’m not--I need time.” _You hurt me_ went unsaid, but it was there, woven in Billy’s words.

 

            “Okay,” Steve agreed and relaxed as Billy finally settled against his chest. He looked up at the sky while he ran his fingers through his curls. He tugged at random--small, tender pulls before he scratched with his blunt nails. Billy had said _Harrington_ instead of _Steve_ , and that hurt, but he knew that this would be a process.

 

            Steve wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but Billy’s even breathing told him he had fallen asleep. They stayed like that until the sun kissed their skin and a new, better day started.

 

~

 

            “What _weirdo_ doesn’t have cereal?” Max pursed her lips as she shoved the cabinet closed.

 

            “A _weirdo_ who just moved in,” Steve squinted at her as he dropped the box on the table in the small kitchen area. “You know, you could help by carrying shit, random girl.”

 

            “Not my apartment,” Max replied haughtily and then sighed as Billy stepped in.

 

            “No, but I have this weird fuckin’ feeling you’ll be over here a lot,” Billy tipped his head to the side and glared. It had been a couple of months since That Night (capitals because Steve made it a personal goal to _never_ make Billy feel like he had no one again). Billy had kept the sides buzzed on his hair but the top was longer, so it was floppier and almost--almost cute. Kind of disarming, Steve thought, considering how dangerous Billy could be when he felt the need.

 

            “Well, you’ll be living here, so of course I’ll be coming over,” Max’s expression twisted up as Steve leaned over and pressed a kiss to Billy’s temple. “Ugh. Fine. I’ll get a box, just so I don’t have to see _that_.”

 

            Steve chuckled and watched her storm out. “It worked, at least,” he said, quiet but amused.

 

            “You call that a kiss, Steve?” Billy turned, caught Steve around the waist, and hauled him up onto the counter. Steve laughed and spread his thighs apart so Billy could nestle between them.

 

            “I do,” Steve looked over Billy, fondness in his tone and his eyes.

 

            “Shitty,” Billy leaned in and Steve held his breath as those lips graced his cheek, the corner of his mouth, and then Billy’s heat was gone. He pushed away from the counter and Steve huffed.

 

            “That’s shitty!” Steve hopped down and followed Billy out of the apartment, down the steps, and to the moving truck.

 

            Things weren’t… perfect, but Billy was moving into an apartment with Steve. He had agreed to let Steve help, and after Steve _begged_ , he finally spoke to Chief Hopper about the bruises and the cuts and why his hair was so short. He spoke under an intense gaze and the older man’s thinned lips. Billy saw the way Hopper tensed when he mentioned his dad and he wondered if he knew what it was like to be scared of hands.

 

            Neil wasn’t the most cooperative person, but Hopper had given him two options: go to jail for child abuse or sign emancipation documents for Billy. It was sort of hilarious to see Neil sign the papers and then get arrested, anyway. It was better to see Billy relax for the first time in--ever? Something about his demeanor changed. He wasn’t looking over his shoulder or flinching as much whenever he was touched. It was like a phantom pain now. Every once in a while, he became distant and had problems talking, but Steve would wait it out until he came back to him.

 

            Billy always came back, and Steve always kept his arms open and waiting for him.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Soundtrack:**  
>  Amber Run - I Found  
> Jaymes Young - Habits of my Heart  
> Jaymes Young - I’ll Be Good  
> Calum Scott - Dancing on my Own  
> NF - Paralyzed  
> NF - Mansion  
> Logic - 1-800-273-8255  
> James Arthur - Naked
> 
> Comments and kudos are GREATLY appreciated! :) Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the ride.


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